


Differences

by keelywolfe



Series: Hobbit Shorts [2]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Hand Jobs, M/M, PWP, Possessive Behavior
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-12
Updated: 2017-03-12
Packaged: 2018-10-03 00:01:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10231013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keelywolfe/pseuds/keelywolfe
Summary: It was strange how the small difference in size could matter.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Just working on a series of shorts, I hope people enjoy them. :)

It was strange how the small difference in size could matter. Hands, for example, Hobbits did not have small hands, thank you very much; they had proportional hands and those proportions carried on throughout the body just as they should. Bilbo had felt Hobbit hands on him before, warm, soft fingers stroking him, surrounding him. A snug grip around his cock coaxing his pleasure from him, his own hand, another, Bilbo had done that much. 

A Dwarf's hand was not a Hobbit hand and there was no pretending that it was. Thick, strong fingers and their grip was firm, lingering almost on the edge of too much. They did not stroke, they pulled, slick fingers against bare skin, and the hard, metal edge of skin-warmed rings rubbing against him. Thorin did not coax pleasure, he demanded it and Bilbo was helpless in its grip. 

"Oh," Bilbo whimpered, legs spread wide over Thorin's, settled tightly into his lap. The stretch burned in his thighs, his feet hooked behind Thorin's calves to keep himself still. Useless, really, because how could he be still, how could he? Beneath the bareness of his backside, Thorin's trousers chafed lightly, the fine material scraping the delicate skin of his arse deliciously raw and tomorrow his own trousers would rub there, aflaming him anew as he remembered. 

The wideness of Thorin's palm engulfed the hot length of Bilbo's cock, his fingers meeting easily around it and perhaps if he'd had the sense, he would have been appalled at how small that made him seem. Proportionally, Hobbits were to Dwarves as an acorn was to a walnut, and it was hard to think of anything with a broad thumb slicking over the slippery head, drawing his foreskin down below the ridge and back up, back and forth until Bilbo whimpered, biting his lip against the pleading that tried to spill forth.

"Do you like that, then, my heart?" Thorin murmured, cheek pressed tight against Bilbo's, his beard a faint abrasion against Bilbo's more naked face. He was leaning forward, his chin against Bilbo's shoulder and…oh, he was watching, he simply had to be. Watching the glide of the length in his hand, watching the slick, reddened tip as his thumb grazed the wetness welling there, swirling through it. 

Bilbo nearly cried aloud when Thorin released him, the cool air against his skin after the friction-heat of his callused palm. Only to watch, eyes wide, as Thorin lifted his hand to his face and Bilbo could not turn his head to see it but he could hear, the wet sound of Thorin licking his thumb, his palm, tasting. Sound strangled in his throat, a low gurgle that was perhaps a please, and Thorin hummed low, a faint rumble of sound as he pressed his thumb to Bilbo's mouth. 

There was no question in that touch, only unrelenting pressure that Bilbo opened to, sucking the thickness of his thumb, working his tongue against the callused pad of it and tasting the faint salt bitterness of himself. The obscene, wet sound it made when Thorin withdrew it pulled another moan from Bilbo, his own hands clutching at the heavy leather of Thorin's coat, trying to cling to something. 

Again, no hesitation, no question. Thorin took him back in hand with possessiveness that bordered on arrogance, as though Bilbo were simply his, his to touch, his to bring to the very edge of desperation. But how could he protest it as untrue when Bilbo only squirmed and sighed, biting his own lips to soreness as Thorin stroked him ruthlessly, breathing heavily so close to Bilbo's ear as he watched. 

The sound of it might have embarrassed him once; the slick, rhythmic noise of skin on skin, and the scent of his own arousal mixed with the hot, heavy smell of Thorin that surrounded him, his hair falling around Bilbo like a ragged curtain. All of his senses engulfed in Thorin, narrowing down to rough slide of his hand.

So focused that he hardly noticed the faint pressure lower, forgetting somehow in his pleasure-haze that Thorin had two hands until another thick finger was knuckle-deep inside him, driving into him, following the building rhythm with terrible ease. Big hands, big fingers, and Bilbo arched up with a shout loud enough that his voice cracked, a reedy, broken cry falling into the air already stifling with frantic gasps and the steady, low rumble of Thorin breathing his avidness against Bilbo's ear. 

The raw edge of it, the hard drive inside him coupled with the brutal grip surrounding him was too much, oh, so much, and Bilbo was half-sobbing when sensation finally overflowed, bursting through him a white-hot rush. With a last desperate keen, Bilbo spilled out in hot, wet streaks over Thorin's hands as he fell back against Thorin's chest, weak and gasping as he collapsed. 

"There we are," Thorin soothed. He petted Bilbo with hands still wet with his seed, easing him back from desperation. Until his breathing slowed and Bilbo could relax back into strong arms; Dwarven arms, not like a Hobbits, not at all, Bilbo could feel the strength holding him close, cradling him. Thorin crooned close to his ear, in that gravelly voice that demanded Bilbo's attention. "You were lovely, my heart."

_My heart, my One, my only_ ; words that carried weight from a Dwarven tongue, from Thorin's tongue. Bilbo had heard them all, whispered and rumbled, and occasionally shouted. 

"My heart," Bilbo mumbled in reply, nuzzling in for a gentle kiss. 

A difference in size, it was true. A difference in hands, in height, in people themselves; in the end their hearts matched, and Bilbo found that to be a fine thing, indeed. 

-finis-


End file.
